


Poison

by orphan_account



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Incest, M/M, Male Slash, Spoilers, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-22 20:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The best way of getting out of meaningless labor is by trying to distract Haytham with a blowjob. It works, more or less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. poison

It was one thing to use poison to kill someone and another matter entirely use it in order to make their minds fuzzy, their sight blurry and their limbs a flailing, boneless mess. Connor had made use of the former poison numerous times when he had been forced to quietly and subtly take someone out in order to advance through a building, a forest, a fortress. The latter type of poison, he had little experience with.

He blamed the fact that it was a type of poison that they had only recently started to import from Europe and while Connor himself knew some things about native healing herbs and poisonous ones, he had never learned more about the subject than he had to. It simply had not been his duty and even if it had been, he would probably have been considered too young and too much of a valuable hunter to learn about potion making.

But when the blade cut his arm and his head started to swim, first sword, then dagger falling from his slack grip, he knew he should have invested some time into learning the effects of poisoning. His head was spinning and the bodies in front of him were flurry, suddenly monstrous with long arms with claws and jagged little teeth, the type he had only seen once on a rare kind of fish.

It was terrifying.

Connor shook his head and decided that flight over fight was the better option.

He turned and ran, more stumbling along the road, crashing into people and tumbling over carts and animals alike. His legs threatened to give out under him but through the mess in his head, he managed to bite down on his lip until it bled. With a grunt, Connor caught himself before he fell for good, the angry voices of his pursuers pushing him further.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Assassin noticed an open door. It was most likely his last opportunity and Connor would have deemed himself an idiot if he would decide not to take it. He practically crashed into the house, hitting his hip on the table standing in the middle of the room, his injured arm brushing the wall as his balance shifted to the right. But then the fresh night air was filling his lungs again and there were no more guards—

Only that two were standing in front of him. If Connor had been able to see straight, he would have noticed them looking just as stunned as he felt.

For a few precious seconds, nothing happened. Too young, too tired or inexperienced, the guards were unable to react first and Connor shamelessly took advantage of this. With a final burst of strength, he pushed them out of his way to round a corner, vision spinning and going dark around the edges and sweat was coating his body, his white robes heavy and constricting and and he could barely curl his hands into fists. Wild-eyed, he looked around and saw his salvation driving just past him. A cart, filled with hay.

Three steps and he was pulling himself into the cart, burying deep beneath the hay and hoping his breathing wasn’t as loud as it sounded in his own ears but it was difficult to determine, they were ringing and in a last-ditch effort to silence himself, Connor raised his hands to place them over his mouth.

He could barely make out the muffled words, curses and irritated promises of pain before the guards finally seemed to give up.

Connor let out the breath he had been holding and removed his hands from his mouth to push them against his eyes instead, pressing down until his vision transformed from black to a mess of shapes and colors.

And then the cart stopped abruptly, more low voices coming from the front. Connor struggled to stay conscious, strained his ears to catch anything of what was being said but it was an impossible task, his body busy fighting the poison cursing through his body. He was clinging to a feeble hope, to a consciousness which was starting to fade.

And then a hand pushed through the hay and found his leg. The grip was strong and intimately familiar and for a few dizzying seconds, more than the poison made Connor’s face heat up, he remembered those gloved hands touching his skin, bringing delirious pleasure and making his body burn in ways he had never experienced before. His body was being dragged out from beneath the hay and the last thing Connor saw before finally losing his battle against unconsciousness was his father’s exasperated expression.

—-

Connor woke up to the deceptive noise of birds chirping. While the number of birds in the bigger cities was not low, their noises and songs were usually overshadowed by the noise of humans, of other animals, city noises that had Connor in awe the first time he’d been to such a city.

Since then, the noises had dulled down unless it was quiet and those quiet moments were, considering everything, the revolution, the battles and skirmishes in-between, a rarity.

So hearing the birds so loudly was rather off-putting and had Connor sitting up as quickly but as quietly as possible.

His head was throbbing and he almost toppled off to the side when the room started to spin. Only by bracing himself with a hand was he able to avoid causing a ruckus and making a fool of himself. For now alone with no guard to watch over him in sight, Connor took a quick look around. The room was familiar and yet unfamiliar at the same time. It was sparsely furnished but whatever decorated the room had been picked with care and an eye for detail instead of grandeur. Every piece of furniture had a practical use, aside from the painting hanging near the wardrobe and from the curtains obscuring the sunlight from trickling in.

It took Connor a few more heartbeats to figure out why this room seemed to familiar. He had seen it before but not been in it. Connecting to the bedroom was his father’s office, he recognized it now that he had taken in every detail. The last time he’d been Haytham’s small mansion, he’d been splayed out over the office desk, knocking ink and papers everywhere while his father’s mouth and fingers had marked him, teased and twisted in the most pleasurable ways, a dark, hungry look in his eyes as he watched Connor relinquish control—

With an irritated sigh, Connor rubbed a hand against his heated cheeks. This was not the time for such memories.

Cautiously, the Assassin pushed himself out of the bed, mindful not to make too much noise. His robes were draped over the chair next to the wardrobe and his boots were waiting for him there, too. It would be easy to grab them and escape through one of the windows without attracting his father’s attention, who was nearby, no doubt. As if he would leave his son alone in his own mansion unsupervised.

Connor made his way over to his boots and pulled them on, wincing when his arm throbbed painfully, a reminder that he’d been injured a while ago. Judging by the sunlight drifting in through the curtains, that had been a few hours ago. He could feel the bandages against his skin, someone had obviously treated the wound and Connor didn’t waste any time on guessing who had dressed it or at least hired someone to do it for him.

Curiosity got the better of him and with a shrug of his arms and shoulders, he pulled his robes on but didn’t close them, the hood remaining down as he made his way to the door. A gentle nudge revealed that it hadn’t been closed properly and a quick glance showed that Connor had been right about his suspicions: His father was sitting at his desk, filling papers with his fluid and quick writing, head slightly bowed, without the hat Connor was used to seeing on him. Knowing his father, it was probably somewhere within reach.

“Stop trying to be quiet. You would even disturb a drunken sailor with the amount of noise you’re making.”

Connor rolled his eyes and squashed down on the temper-flare. Haytham hadn’t even bothered lifting his head and that was all Connor needed to know, his father was more barking than biting.

With another nudge, he pushed the door open and stepped into the office. His glance slid over the carpet underneath the desk. Ink splotches were scattered over it, staining what had obviously been an expensive investment and for a few seconds, Connor was torn between petty satisfaction and mortified embarrassment. He remembered the bottle of ink falling down, hitting the carpet with a dull noise, blue splotches everywhere and his father’s cursing and half-annoyed sigh, followed by a biting remark and a possessive kiss.

Haytham finally looked up when Connor sat down in the chair in front of the desk. He put his pen down and watched his son lay his hands over each other. A nervous habit or a relaxation technique, Haytham hadn’t quite figured out what it was yet.

“How did I end up here?” Connor’s memory was quite fuzzy, he remembered being injured and deciding to run, his body growing weaker by the second but after that, he could only remember the burn of his lungs and the weakness in his legs.

“I saw you running and noticed your condition, as well as your terrible hiding spot. A foolish decision, by the way, the guards almost caught sight of you. I figured you’d be grateful if I saved your life, considering how desperately you clung to it while the doctor I called treated your poisoning.”

It was almost like being scolded by Achilles. Almost but not quite the same. The little roll in Haytham’s voice was different, as was the way he was eying Connor. Smugness laced his every word while Achilles would have sounded concerned and disappointed.

It hurt like a bee’s sting.

“If it involved that much trouble for you, maybe you shouldn’t have bothered.” Connor’s jaw tensed and he drew back his shoulders, stubborn and defensive in every way. He was grateful for his life, yes. But his father had the unfortunate habit of waving his failures around right in his face, irritating him and trying his patience.

“Well then, perhaps I shouldn’t have. Next time, I’ll just leave you in a ditch to die.”

Haytham’s tone was scathing as his eyes bore into his son’s. Neither of them relented until Connor’s tense shoulders slumped a little bit and he lowered his gaze. He was being ungrateful and his stubborn anger was getting the better of him.

“There will not be a next time. …But thank you for saving me. That was… considerate of you.” Even though Connor had little idea as to why his father had saved him. For all intends and purposes, this Templars were better off without an Assassin trying to sabotage their plans and Connor happened to be that very Assassin who constantly got in their way.

Haytham was half-way through rolling his eyes before he caught himself and schooled his expression back into his usual aloof and calm mask.

“Perhaps I had a reason for saving you. There are errands to run that I have little time for. You will do it in my stead, it would only be apprpriate.”

Connor let out the breath that had caught in his throat as soon as Haytham had uttered the word _reason_. He had expected something else, what exactly he wasn’t sure himself but regardless, he didn’t have any time to play delivery boy for his father, he had his own business to attend to and… His gaze wandered back to the ink stains on the carpet.

The sight made his stomach do another funny little flip.

He licked his lips, eyes darting back up in time to catch his father furrowing his eyebrows. Then, without warning, Connor placed his hands on the desk and leaned over it to press his lips against Haytham’s.

Maybe there was a different kind of reward Haytham was willing to accept.

His father reacted about as well to the kiss as Connor had expected. Haytham hadn’t even flinched or moved to grab his son in the case of an attack. There was a mixture of pride, affection and irritation coiling in Connor’s chest at the observation. Pride and affection because his father didn’t instantly think of being stabbed when his son moved in close and let it happen instead. On the other hand, Connor was irritated that Haytham didn’t consider him a valid threat anymore, even if Haytham had never given off the impression of thinking about Connor’s attempts to interfere with the Templars’ influence as a very serious problem. His people had fallen but Haytham had remained aloof and unimpressed.

(But he had been bothered enough to come and wait for Connor at the abandoned church, had gone out of his way to meet the thorn in his side personally and this encounter had been the twist which had changed everything.)

Hands finally reached out to find Connor’s waist and with a push, Haytham broke the so far one-sided kiss, eyes darker than before and eyebrows raised.

“And may I ask what it is you are planning?”

There was no getting things past his father, was there? Stifling a huff, Connor rested his forearms on the table, lowering his voice slightly while bowing his head. The last time he’d done this, it had been the final straw and Haytham had him bent over the desk, had him squirming and gasping and offering his neck to get marked, offered up his inexperience and control in what had been the most stupid and rewarding move Connor had pulled off since meeting his father. It was as if the rabbit had hopped into the wolf’s path on purpose.

From his slightly lowered position, Connor let his gaze flit up just in time to see Haytham swallow. Good. It was a weakness he could exploit, something secure to cling to while many things his father had shown him were new and unexpected and made his toes curl.

“Perhaps I simply want to thank you for your generosity, Haytham. I thought you valued manners.”

“Oh, I do. I had simply not expected to tame you this easily.”

Almost instantly, Connor’s hackles went up and he made a low, irritated noise and opened his mouth to protest but without warning, his father had pulled him close, noses bumping against each other and their breaths were mingling and Haytham’s possessive gaze bore into Connor’s off-guard one.

“But who am I to look a gift-horse in the mouth?”

Had Connor not been so distracted by the warm hand against his neck and the lips so close to his own, he might have resented being compared to the over-bred horses the Brits seemed to favor. Instead, all he could focus on was Haytham’s presence, close and powerful and challenging and intoxicating.

And finally the Templar went in for a kiss, pressing his lips against Connor’s, nipping and pressing and demanding a response Connor was too happy to give, groaning loudly as he opened his mouth to let their tongues do a different kind of battle. The sudden heat was oppressive and constricting, the robes too hot and yet not as warm as his father’s hands on his shoulders. The hands were steadily working on pushing said robes down Connor’s arms and for a split second the Assassin wondered how his father could remain so composed, so in-control of actions while his son was being set alight with need. Then he noticed the slight tremble of the hands and the way Haytham’s eyebrows were drawn together as if clinging to what control he had left and instantly, Connor was feeling a lot better. He was the one making his father lose the tiniest pieces of control, chip by chip and shard by shard.

But while Connor would have loved to let his father show him more, would have let him make Connor scream himself hoarse until he was a shaking, voiceless mess, this wasn’t the desired result. At least not for today.

Abruptly, Connor pulled back and licked his lips, breath escaping him is short puffs. The bare skin Haytham had touched was tingling, was heated and sensitive and the spot Haytham had sunken his teeth into, had suckled and marked and looked grimly pleased about, the one which had faded and was barely visible anymore, was beating against Connor’s skin.

It was difficult to shake the dizzying thoughts but he had worked under worse pressure, under worse circumstances.

“No.”

That got a reaction out of Haytham, the older man leaned back and narrowed his eyes at his son, eying him suspiciously behind a hastily placed unimpressed look which was ruined by his red lips and the hidden, hungry look in his eyes.

“And here I was under the impression that you had finally learned how to articulate yourself properly. I can’t look into your head, boy, and simply saying ‘No’ is not going to make me understand what you’re on about.”

Connor rolled his eyes and climbed over the desk, ignoring his father’s irritated huff. It was petty revenge, Connor knew, smearing the ink on the letters his father had spent time working on. But in situations like these and with his father’s sharp tongue dishing out words meant to agitate, petty revenge made Connor feel immensely better.

“I do not want you to touch me today. It’s not my desire for you to undress me and descend on my body like a bird of prey.”

Connor could see Haytham roll his eyes at his choice of words but he didn’t care.

“Let me do something for you. Let me do _this_ for you.”

Without further ado, the Assassin slid between Haytham’s legs and nuzzled his cheek against the clothed and half-erect cock, eyes half closed as he looked up to meet his father’s gaze head on. His father opened his mouth to say something, perhaps to voice another sharp remark but Connor didn’t let him, lips pressing against Haytham’s covered erection, mouthing against it and letting his tongue dart out to lap at it.

The noise Haytham made was well worth the trouble, the slight mortification and the excitement both.

“…Let me appreciate you, father.”

For a few seconds, nothing happened and the silent needle of dread started to push itself into Connor’s side. What if his father would just laugh and push him away and mock him in the way that always made Connor snarl and want nothing more than to punch that smug smile, the voice which promised nothing and everything at once would finally be muted and he could go on with his life, could forget this ever happened, could forget that he was doing this with his father—

“Your… effort is charming, Connor. Unpolished and completely ridiculous, coming from you but perhaps that is why I find it so delightful.”

Fingers were making their way through Connor’s hair before stopping at his back and carefully kneading, massaging the tense skin there.

The words had not been gentle, had not been meant to be a soothing balm for the anxiety and yet they had pulled the needle out and discarded it to side, ready to be used whenever it would please Haytham.

But the simple acceptance of Connor’s words made the Native breathe out through his nose, shoulders slumping slightly before he narrowed his eyes at the bulge in Haytham’s pants. It was time to stop moping and move on to more pressing matters, a situation Connor had happily thrown himself into. And, if he was very honest with himself, very eagerly so.

With the fingers exerting control and comfort against his head, Connor returned to nuzzling his father’s penis through his pants, mouthing against it before parting his lips slightly wider and angling his side to the head to press his open mouth against it. Without further ado, he started sucking lightly, eyes darting up to catch the stumble in Haytham’s cool facade, in time to see the nostrils flare and his father suddenly holding very, very still. He clearly hadn’t expected that.

If Connor’s mouth hadn’t been otherwise occupied, he would have smirked. Instead, he let his eyes flutter closed and sucked harder, pressing his tongue against clothed skin. It was intoxicating, knowing his father’s erection was just beneath his mouth, his father was letting himself slip up, was allowing himself to be this vulnerable. Haytham technically earned very little by letting his son do this to him but the knowledge that he considered it worth it made Connor’s stomach do a funny little flip-flop before the heat pooled in. He could feel his face growing hotter, feel the sweat begin to gather at his neck and his father’s chuckle indicated that he had noticed it, too.

With a growl, Connor pulled back and started to work on the laces of Haytham’s breeches. To his annoyance, he found his fingers too clumsy, too shaky to undo the laughably easy knot and a noise of frustrating escaped him. Stupid guards and their stupid poison.

Above him, Haytham tilted his head to the side and watched in amusement.

That bastard.

Fed up with his unsteady fingers, Connor decided to make short work of the laces and tugged at them until they tore. When he looked up at his father to see the amusement vanish and be replaced by irritation at the prospect of having to either buy a new pair of pants or new laces.

  
Served him right.

With renewed vigor, Connor yanked at the breeches, pulling them down just enough to reveal hot, red flesh surrounded by dark curls.

The picture suddenly reminded Connor that he had very little idea what he was actually doing. Yes, Haytham had done this to him briefly but all Connor could actually remember was heat and wetness and a tongue lapping at his skin and after that, things had gotten hazy. Very hazy, in fact.

This wasn’t the time of looking at his father for guidance, Connor had been the one to offer this, he was the one who had sounded so sure of himself and admitting to not knowing what to do what simply ridiculous. And he was in no mood to swallow his pride.

Besides, he knew enough to keep Haytham happy until he could figure out how to do this. If his father’s breathing was any indication, he was doing well enough for now.

Connor closed his eyes and took a deep breath before raising his hands and letting them roam, letting them explore his father’s erection, listening to the hitches and muffled, barely controlled sighs to slowly learn the spots his father appreciated the most.

Then his lips started to follow his hands, starting at the base, first just pressing, then his tongue darted out to lick at the skin, the taste salty and weird but not unpleasant. He didn’t bother looking back up to see if he was doing decently enough, the fingers suddenly digging into the back of his head were all the answer he needed.

“At the pace you’re moving, boy, the maid is going to catch us both.”

It would have sounded far more intimidating if Haytham hadn’t sounded as breathless as he did. There was a tremor in his voice that made Connor suddenly feel as if his own breeches were too small but he didn’t have the time to move his hands down and pleasure himself nor was it part of his plan.

With a huff, Connor placed his hands back on Haytham’s legs and pushed them slightly wider apart so he could scoot forward. The angle wasn’t too different but he could fully sit up now, could pay more attention to the tip, to the spot which had Haytham’s fingers dancing over his skulls, suddenly breathless and making noises that sounded far too hungry, far too impatient to have come from his father. Knowing that Connor had actually managed to get his father to make these noises felt satisfying.

The knowledge let Connor grow bolder and with a quick move, he had taken the tip of his father’s cock into his mouth, pressing his tongue against the slit, the taste growing even saltier and bitterer. Curiosity got the better of him and he took more of it into his mouth, breathing steadily through his nose. His jaw was starting to protest about being kept in this position but Connor gleefully ignored the complaints and went further and further until he was trembling, pushing the limits. He didn’t want to cross the line just yet so with a wet noise, he pulled back a little before allowing the steady press his his father’s hands to guide him forward again.

It was not entirely comfortable and the noises were too loud in Connor’s ears, too wet, too obscene but a glance up at his father showed that it was well worth it. Haytham had his eyes closed and eyebrows knitted together and he was biting down on his bottom lip to keep the noises escaping him to a minimum.

The sight made Connor even more determined to break his father’s cool.

With a deliberately slow motion, Connor pulled back until only the tip was in his mouth and his hands had moved over to cover what skin his mouth didn’t reach just yet.

And then he started to suck.

With a curse, Haytham let his head fall back, legs trembling and tensing and relaxing as if Haytham was keeping them from moving, from jerking, from letting the pleasure control him. Even with Haytham’s head not in complete line of sight, Connor could tell that his cheeks were burning and hair was starting to cling to his brow, wet from the sweat and effort to stay still.

Connor’s eagerness seemed to be pushing his at Haytham’s self control.

Pleased with the discovery, the Assassin started to bob his head up and down, going further and further until he was removing his hands so he could taste more skin, take more of the cock into his mouth until he was pushing at the limit again and—

he remembered his father doing _something_ with his mouth, making him groan and tremble and—

Connor squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed, taking Haytham in to the base.

Suddenly, his father was jerking and hunching over, fingers keeping him locked into place, digging into his skin and pulling at his hair as they clenched. There was a bitter taste flooding Connor’s mouth and he couldn’t breathe anymore—

Coughing, he pulled back and covered his mouth with a hand, ignoring the burn in his throat in favor of regaining the ability to breathe. Everything tasted bitter and he had to swallow a couple of times, resting his forehead against Haytham’s thigh.

“Don’t think for one second that this will get you out of running the errands for me, Connor.”

Even out of breath and red-cheeked and disheveled, Haytham still managed to sound in control of the situation. It was incredibly frustrating to see the man gather the pieces of his control so he could act as if he hadn’t just come apart mere seconds ago.

Connor rolled his eyes and finally removed his hands from his mouth.

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?”


	2. at night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haytham wakes up, tied to his bed and Connor sitting in his lap.

Haytham woke up with his hands tied to the top of his bed.

He also had a lapful of Connor towers over him, looking far too pleased with himself without actually smiling.

Twisting his wrists around a little bit, Haytham tried to find out whether or not he would be able to escape the bonds easily. They slid over his skin but did not loosen and Haytham felt a pang of admiration for Connor.

“Achilles taught you how to make basic knots. Well done, son.”

Connor bristled at the comment before he smoothed his ruffled feathers down and gave his father a satisfied look. And the sneaky brat had every reason to look as satisfied as he did. Haytham should have caught on weeks ago, when Connor had started touching his wrists a lot, even when they were both curled up on Haytham’s bed, relaxed and content in their afterglow. Or when Haytham had woken up all those times during the nights because Connor was touching his wrists. It had put him off but he hadn’t seen any ill intent on Connor’s face so he’d let it slide. He hadn’t really expected these little gestures to have consequences.

Crafty little bastard.

“Basic as they may be, you are not getting out of them, are you, father?”

Haytham refused to dignify that with an answer.

“What do you want, Connor? For me to keep still during your cuddly moods? I indulge you, boy, but there are limits to how much time I can spend curled up on the bed, playing pillow for you.”

Connor’s lips quirked into a small smile as he leaned back, moonlight flitting over the tan, _naked_ body.

Oh.

Haytham swallowed as he let his eyes roam all over the skin, taking in the sight of the marks he’d left all over Connor’s body before they’d fallen asleep, the bruises on his shoulders and chest, the indents of his fingernails on Connor’s hips. The assassin had looked so good, lips swollen and red, his legs splayed out at Haytham’s sides as the templar fucked him ruthlessly.

“If you think it’s cuddles I desire, you are mistaken. You are efficient in what you do, father, you enjoy being in control and having things go your way. It’s high time you learned that this can’t always be the case.”

With that, Connor bent down and pressed his lips against Haytham’s. It was very light, very soft and Haytham growled, wanting nothing more than to reach up and pull Connor into a proper kiss, one that involved teeth and tongue and making the assassin groan.

He was a man of force, of presence if he wanted to be, the tidal wave on a sunny day which no one expected. He was nothing if not proficient at everything he touched.

It’s what he’s been taught and what he had learned.

The only instance he’d ever taken his time with someone had been with Ziio. Ziio, who had rolled her eyes at his roughness and taught him how to go slow.

Haytham found her reflected in the person above and his chest suddenly constricted.

Something must have shown on his face because Connor gave him a scrutinizing look which softened after a few seconds. Warm lips were pressed against Haytham’s brow and careful hands started to roam over his chest.

“We will do things my way tonight.”

(In the morning, Haytham woke up to a screaming backside. Connor spent a whole five minutes mocking him before he got up, limping out of the room to fetch some hot water and towels.)


End file.
